


sky of stars

by querxes



Series: small town, sad song [4]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Angst with a Happy Ending, College, Divorce, Domestic Violence, Drinking, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, ONE (1) instance, Physical Abuse, Post-Divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:49:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26003707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/querxes/pseuds/querxes
Summary: Then, Davey called Jack his best friend. It was true. He knew it was true, obviously Jack was his best friend. But there was a pang in his chest that came with it as he caught a glimpse of the stars in Jack’s eyes, and the confirmation that they were, in fact, best friends, that followed.David through the years, while trying to remember and trying to forget.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, David Jacobs/Original Male Character(s)
Series: small town, sad song [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825099
Comments: 16
Kudos: 44





	sky of stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Interpolations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interpolations/gifts).



> In the other parts I skirt around the domestic violence, so they were all tagged as implied. This one, however, is from David's perspective and is very much not implied. That is the major warning of this work. 
> 
> This also may or may not be my pride and joy. I'm not sure yet.

Davey was eighteen, and he was on the top of the world. 

Prom wasn’t something he thought would live up to his extremely low expectations, but surprisingly, all of them were blown clear out of the water. They laughed and danced all night, and even pictures were bearable with Race continuously cracking jokes to get them all to smile like idiots. The school had rented out the local golf course and set up a giant wooden platform for dancing, and it was absolutely perfect. 

Then Jack turned to him once prom was about to end, egging him to ditch going to the Chem-Free after prom party and jump in his truck, because there was a perfect spot he wanted to show Davey. Davey, being a good student but definitely not immune to imperfection, who hoped his parents didn’t think he was skipping to smoke weed or drink or something along the lines of rebellion, went with Jack anyway.

Jack took him in the middle of nowhere to a random field, and Davey vaguely toyed with the fact that he was  _ sure  _ this had to have been private property, but he jumped out of the truck and slid next to Jack on the metal pickup bed anyway. He snorted at the sight of the Angry Orchard boxes folded up in the back, and Jack only cussed and reminded himself to get rid of them later on.

They fiddled around for hours, dancing blindly in the dark to the shitty country station that crackled loudly and wildly, then they jumped back up on the bed and let their feet simply dangle over the sides because “this place  _ must  _ be filled with ticks, Jack, get off the ground!”

Then, Davey called Jack his best friend. It was true. He knew it was true, obviously Jack was his best friend. But there was a pang in his chest that came with it as he caught a glimpse of the stars in Jack’s eyes, and the confirmation that they were, in fact, best friends, that followed.

They were best friends. They had been since sixth grade, when Davey spoke with the remnants of a Polish accent on his tongue and wore thick-framed glasses and just started to go by David, the same way that Jack had smiled proudly with a mouth full of braces and went by Cowboy more often or not. He still remembered, however, the hot blush that lit up the back of his neck when Jack had called out with a vibrant, crooked red-colored smile, “Hey, Davey, wanna hang out with me at recess today?”

He did. From there, they became the best of friends, but they were an “unlikely combination,” as all their teachers and parents would say. Davey didn’t see it that way, that was just his best friend Jack, who also happened to have a really nice smile, even when it was all crooked like it was. His best friend Cowboy, who wanted to be a rancher/artist/gunslinger and certainly dressed like all three. His best friend, who he certainly did  _ not  _ have a major geeky crush on, a crush that certainly would’ve faded in high school years if he ever had a crush on him in the first place. No way.

But the clock just kept ticking down on their childhood.

They were eighteen now and Davey was accepted at a college in New York City, way far from home. He was going to be a lawyer, he knew. He almost expected Jack to follow him out into the city, maybe go to art school nearby, but he didn’t. He chose to choose a place out in Santa Fe, and it was going to be a great opportunity for him. He seemed excited to be going, not to be a ranchero or a gunslinger or anything of the sort, but he was going to work with some great artists of “our time.” He didn’t seem all that sure of himself, but who was Davey to bring that up? Davey knew exactly what he was doing, where he was going. 

The words sat on his tongue the entire night. He bit them back. He didn’t want to think about missed opportunities when he was going to the city of opportunity in a few short months.

* * *

Davey was nineteen, and he wasn’t failing college.

He was just being dramatic, college was  _ great.  _ He was directly in the city and he could walk everywhere he needed to go. The constant noise was ruthless and relentless on his sensitive ears, but he survived. He also survived the trash and the giant gutter rats and the constant fumes. It became more bearable when he would FaceTime Jack or Sarah or occasionally Race or one of his other friends while walking down the busy sidewalks littered with empty McDonald’s containers and Juul cartridges.

He didn’t struggle with making friends, surprisingly. There were plenty of other kids obsessed with fighting the injustices and wrongs of the political system just like him, the ones that typically occupied the libraries during their breaks. Somehow, he also found himself drawn to the reckless ones, the ones who reminded him of his high school friends. (Mostly the mechanical engineers. They were  _ fucking insane.) _ He didn’t really mean to get drawn to them, but it didn’t make his new friends irrelevant.

Campus was a dream, one that he would not wake up from for another three years. His classes held the same level of prestige. It was amazing, but he was starting to miss the stars in the sky being so bright the way they were back home.

It was alright, because Santa Fe was just a call away, and so was his home.

* * *

Davey was twenty, and he was just a bit lonely, but he was getting along fine.

He had started to feel a disconnect between him and his friends from home, even Jack.

Not to say that they didn’t talk anymore, or that Davey didn’t consider Jack his best friend anymore, it was just hard, especially when Jack stayed in Santa Fe for the entire summer break, when their schedules didn’t mesh very well, turning into a messy overlap of five-minute FaceTimes and constant interruptions. It was okay, he told himself. That was probably pretty normal. 

And then...there was this guy.

Brock was twenty-one, just a year older than Davey. He was studying Architecture, he was incredibly brilliant in math and design. He was a genius. He also happened to be incredibly attractive. 

He looked quite a bit...a  _ lot  _ like Jack.

They had the same brown skin, same brown eyes. But Brock was bigger, clocking out at the same height as Davey, but he was built much more rugged. He had been a football player in high school, a championship winner. Even in college, he stayed fit by going to the gym daily. He had a set jaw and tight curls on the top of his head, and his voice was much deeper than Jack’s was. To top it off, he wore a rainbow bracelet around his wrist every day, and he always made a point of rolling up his sleeves to show it off whenever Davey was around him. 

He was... _ wow. _

Davey tried not to fall hard for him. It felt too much like Jack at times, just taller, buffer, and  _ actually attracted to Davey _ , and he really didn’t want to lead Brock on. He didn’t mean to. 

Brock swept Davey off his feet, more or less.

He couldn’t help but smile back when the other boy threw a flattering comment, because it was almost as if that were Jack if he had felt something besides unwavering friendship and camaraderie. He could pretend in those moments that Jack was the one who was calling him sweet, cute, adorable, lovely, but then it turned into  _ sweetheart, beau, baby.  _ That was all Brock. And then, no way was he leading Brock on. Jack was behind him now, and he couldn’t focus on what could’ve been. 

It was Brock now, with his messy doctor’s note handwriting and cultural dates and charming words.

That was why it took Davey by surprise when Brock started to say certain things, almost like his filter was starting to wear down. Davey assumed it was just because he was getting to know Davey better.

He remembered one day, Brock had turned to him, a wide, straight-toothed grin. “Why do you even  _ let  _ people call you Davey?” He had laughed, eyes sparkling with beautiful mirth. “It’s so childish.  _ Davey,”  _ he mocked in a sing-song voice. “David is so much more  _ sophisticated.”  _ Brock winked, flashing his perfect teeth.

Davey could only let out a small, “Oh.”

And then Davey was David. Simple as that. Davey was just a childhood nickname, anyway. You’re supposed to reinvent yourself in college, anyway. It wasn’t a big deal. Brock was right, if he was going to start a successful career in a few years, he shouldn’t be known as  _ Davey. _

* * *

David was twenty-one, and he was okay.

Why shouldn’t he be? He had a boyfriend who loved him and who he loved more than the entire world. A boyfriend who dragged him to parties and kept him standing when waves of nausea and delirium racked his frame, who would force a bottle of water and excedrin in his system before he could expel a number of unnamed substances from his stomach.

Brock graduated from college, finding a successful internship with a top-of-the-line architectural firm. Naturally, they had enough money to get their own apartment, so David went into his senior year of college living with his boyfriend. Before he made the decision, however, his family wanted to meet Brock. The entire day, there was this sort of tense energy built behind Brock’s shoulders, and David just assumed that he was nervous to meet them. He would never really find out, however, since he was the model boyfriend in front of everyone, cracking jokes with Les and chatting about politics with Sarah and evaluating the state of the economy with his parents. He answered many serious, important questions with a solemn, grim determination.

“They were nice,” Brock said after they had escorted the Jacobs family out.

“Yeah?” David asked, humoring him.

“Yeah. I think you’re almost as beautiful as your mother,” Brock joked, a smirk twitching on his lips.

David laughed. “Don’t tell her you said that. She’d fight for my honor.”

“Oh, I’m sure she would, especially since you can’t even fight for your own.”

David didn’t know how to respond to that. Seconds later, he just laughed it off. That night, when Brock slept with an arm wrapped around David’s waist, David thought of the millions of things he could’ve said to defend himself. He didn’t get much sleep.

* * *

David was twenty-two, and he didn’t have many of his old friends in his contacts list anymore.

Brock had seen the lines of names and he froze up. How would he know that David wasn’t cheating on him with all of those contacts in his phone? 

That was the first time Brock’s searing rage had been directed at David. “Who the fuck is  _ Romeo?!  _ David. You’re not fucking serious. You’re fucking cheating on me, aren’t you?!” His face was red with anger, and his fists were shuddering at his sides.

David’s heart dropped in his stomach. “What?! Jesus Christ, of course not! Romeo was just the nickname of an old friend back in high school. Brock, I would never, I swear to God!” He would never,  _ never  _ cheat on Brock, and he needed him to know that. “Look through my entire phone if you need proof, I promise I have never,  _ never  _ cheated on you.”

Brock’s face was vulnerable, like he was wounded by the idea of David finding someone else. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”

David couldn’t say no to that face. He couldn’t. So, poof. Over half of his contacts were gone. Race, Charlie, Spot, Romeo, Henry, Specs, Mike, Ike, Finch, all of them and more were gone. He was not a cheater, he would  _ never  _ break Brock’s heart and betray his trust like that. He  _ needed _ Brock to know that.

**Jack Kelly** flashed on the screen in front of him. He stared at the last contact for a long time, fingers hovering over the delete button. Brock rolled his eyes and grabbed David’s phone from him, blocking the number instead.

“Old boyfriend?” Brock muttered cruelly.

David ignored the pang in his chest when he saw the contact gone. Then, it thrummed with dreadful energy at the insinuation that Brock brought up. David was sick with dread. “Stop, he was just an old friend. Brock, you know you’re my first.”

Brock sighed, eyes forgiving. “I know. And hopefully, I’ll be your last, too.” Brock’s eyes softened even further, those beautiful warm brown eyes, and he cupped David’s chin and brought him into a tender kiss, one that David finally relented and relaxed against. 

When David logged into Instagram later on, he noticed his feed looked a lot quieter than usual. A few days later, it was the same with his Snapchat.

Brock shrugged it off when David brought it up. “Come on, David, those are all just high school friends. I don’t talk to my high school friends anymore, I don’t see what’s the matter. You said they were just old friends. Unless you  _ are—” _

David snapped. “No, I’m fucking not! I just really don’t like that you deleted half of my friends and blocked the other half without my permission. I want you to be able to trust me, and that means we have to at least talk to each other. That doesn’t mean stealing my phone and getting rid of everything behind my back!”

Brock froze in his spot, not exactly expecting the reaction he received. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s stupid, and I know you’re worlds different from the assholes in high school,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I trust you so much, it’s just hard for me. I get worried.”

David closed his eyes. “I know. Just...please don’t pull that shit again. I hate it.”

“I know you do. I promise, beau, I won’t.”

David did graduate from college, but it seemed as if it took a backseat in the swarm of events that was his life in those days. He immediately went into law school with no hesitation and threw himself back into classes, back into a perfectly crafted life. He chose an accelerated program because he had no time to lose if he wanted to be successful. Brock had already started to mention that David wasn’t holding up his own weight as much as he should be.

David felt married already. He just wasn’t sure if he was ready for that just yet.

But then, Brock had taken him out to the middle of Central Park, got on one knee, and asked: 

“Will you marry me?”

* * *

David was twenty-three, and he was getting married. 

His parents didn’t expect it. Neither did his siblings, neither did he if he was being honest. But he loved Brock, so it was the right choice for him. He’d be graduating from law school in a year, both he and Brock would be serious in their careers. They would be able to make the decision to start a family soon as well, so it was just natural that they got married.

Brock wanted him to take his last name. He would be David Saldana. David wanted to hyphenate their names, but Brock didn’t agree.

“Jacobs-Saldana? No. That sounds like a mouthful” In the end, he just ended up taking Saldana. It wasn’t worth the huge disagreement it would cause, and he hated when Brock was upset anyway. It never settled with him very well. 

They planned the wedding in New York in the synagogue that David had tended to frequent very often, and it was without saying that it would be a family-only event. Brock didn’t invite his friends, and neither did David.

“So it’s less complicated,” Brock had said. David simply nodded his head in agreement.

Planning was more complicated than David would’ve imagined it to be. It may have been that he was still in school and working part-time if he wasn’t in school that made it stressful, or maybe it was because Brock was hovering over his shoulder making sure he was doing everything right.

It was a beautiful ceremony, David had to admit. But all of the fine details of the event were blown from his head, just like grains of sand blowing in the wind in the Santa Fe air. What he remembered, however, was the way Brock’s eyes looked and the towering flowers and the crowd around them spinning in circles as they were hoisted up in chairs during the horah. He remembered clutching onto the white handkerchief that attached him to Brock with sweating palms. He remembered the dread pooling in his gut when he realized that maybe he wasn’t ready to be married just yet.

He still had the pictures, and there was a look he didn’t really recognize on his face. He still wasn’t sure what it was. For certain, however, he knew the look on Ima’s and Aba’s faces. He knew the look on Sarah’s face.

* * *

David was twenty four, and he was starting to regret things.

He hadn’t been home,  _ really home,  _ since sophomore year of college. He hadn’t seen or heard from his old friends in so long. He hadn’t seen the stars in the night sky stretched out in front of him, a canvas speckled with the universe’s own original creations. He didn’t see much from their little Manhattan terrace.

“Why do you hate everything here? Is it not good enough for you?”

“Brock, I’m just tired, it was a long day at school. And I don’t hate everything here.”

“You think I don’t have long days when I work an actual job? David, you’re still doing the easy stuff, just relax a little. Why do you even have that look on your face?”

“Because I’m  _ tired.  _ Is that alright?”

“Of course it is, beau. I’m sorry for pushing you.” Brock gently kissed him on his temple. “You wanna get drunk and forget about it?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

David pushed himself to the point of exhaustion, pushed and pushed and pushed until finally, he was becoming an immigration lawyer. It was done. Brock would finally be happy with the money he would be raking in instead of dragging them behind with.

“Look at that. We can finally afford the good stuff now that you’re actually working instead of riding off of me.”

Brock only got more blunt after they were married. More eye rolls, more annoyed stares when David interrupted him from doing something, more sarcastic comments. David tried to ignore them, because it really had only been a year since they were married. Maybe they just needed to work out their problems. That didn’t mean that David wanted to, however. He didn’t want to bother asking Brock what was wrong.

So he took trips. Well, as many as Brock thought was appropriate without throwing out the possibility that David was cheating on him. The accusations had only gotten worse after David had taken Brock’s last name. David had done everything to prove his innocence the first time Brock had even raised a suspicion, but now David was so used to it that he could care less about another one of his stupid comments. It hurt, but if Brock didn’t believe him, that was his problem when David had already laid out everything he ever had.

So, he went to volunteer at the Mexican border, he was helping after the natural disasters in Guam, in Puerto Rico, he was in refugee camps in Kenya, in Thailand, in Germany, in Israel, in Greece, in Syria, in Bangladesh, in India, in Jordan, in Sudan, in Nepal, all across the fifty states, and he didn’t want to come home. Even while witnessing the worst of conditions, hearing horror stories of razed, war-torn cities and bearing witness to the darkest of human nature. He was useful here; he had a job that he was good at, that he was proud of. Of course he was useful in his law firm back in New York, but it was when he was home that he had to hear about how wrong he was.

He couldn’t pin the exact place that everything had started to fall apart, but he was sure it was his fault. That, or the alcohol.

* * *

David was twenty-five, and he was finally done.

He didn’t remember the snapping point. He didn’t even remember what the initial argument was about. Was it even an argument, or was it another accusation? He wasn’t sure anymore. All he knew was that he threw the towel down when they were both feeling a little tipsy and Brock yanked him out of his chair like he was little more than a ragdoll. 

_ “Brock!”  _ He remembered shouting, and his husband let go as soon as he realized what he had done. David’s arm was quickly turning a bright shade of red.

Brock’s eyes grew wide, doe-like, and he lowered his hand slowly, apology already building on his lips. “David, baby, I’m so—”

“No. No, you’re not. You were about to—no, I’m just getting the  _ hell  _ out of here.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?! It was an accident. You want to give all this shit up now after one fucking time?!” Brock was  _ seething _ with anger. “Who fucking supported you when you were  _ nothing,  _ huh? When you were studying to be the most useless fucking lawyer because you have such a superiority complex and think you can save all those goddamn refugees?! The ones you love more than your fucking husband?!”

“You see?! That’s why. You’re so mean to me all the fucking time, you never believe me! You say shit all the time that you  _ know  _ isn’t true just to hurt my feelings!”

_ “Mean?!  _ Don’t be such a fucking baby, David. You’re fucking lucky that I’m so nice to you, because every time you speak I want to blow my brains out, with you trying to convince me that I’m always wrong! You’re exhausting. If I didn’t love you so fucking much, I would’ve kicked you out years ago. No one’s gonna love you more than I do, you get that? All those flings, probably those refugees you’re fucking behind everyone’s back, you think they’d love you beyond your pocketbook?! And who helped you put all that money there?!”    


Brock’s voice rang in his ears, rattling his brain in his head. “Certainly not you! You—I’m not even going to try to explain myself anymore. I can’t do this anymore.”

Brock grew desperate. He obviously wasn’t expecting this today. He wasn’t expecting David to push back, probably ever. “David, please, we just got  _ married  _ like, two years ago, for God sakes, we have our whole lives ahead of ourselves! You’re just gonna give up now because I lost my temper  _ once?!” _ Brock’s voice quieted, grew subdued. Vulnerable. “I don’t know who I am without  _ you.” _

David couldn’t find it in himself to believe him. “Maybe you should figure it out by yourself. Goodbye, Brock.”

“David, you will NOT WALK OUT THAT DOOR—”

_ Slam. _

After that, David went home. He hid away in his parents’ house and filed the divorce papers, sending them to Brock. He finally signed the papers after weeks of relentlessness. There was no contact. At least, David didn’t let there be any contact. Brock’s number flashed across his screen every day, texts and calls and slams, threatening him to come back home.

No. Fuck him. He was home.

And Jack was here too. 

He had no idea when Jack had come back from Santa Fe, but he was home. 

He still liked hard cider. He still wore so much blue and red. He still had his old truck. He was still always covered in splatters of paint.

David still wasn’t in love with him. He wasn’t, no, he couldn’t be. He wasn’t sure if that was technically cheating or not, since he hadn’t talked to Brock since he left New York.

David needed to pick up his things from his old apartment, so he left for New York with Sarah and his father, not wanting to go back into the lion’s den alone. Brock wasn’t home. David knew that he wouldn’t have been anyway, he still knew Brock’s schedule like the back of his hand. Some of his things were strewn across the apartment, ripped and stained with God knows what. Other things were thrown out. Others weren’t even touched.

He packed up all of them. He left his key on the table next to his ring. Then, they left. Aba’s and Sarah’s eyes were hard for the entire trip.

* * *

Davey was twenty-six, and he was remembering all that he had forgotten about his small town.

They were all small things, like the way the flowers wilted in front of his old high school, the way the convenience store sign tilted the way it did, the way everyone in town knew his name, wanted to know why he was home, whether or not he liked the city. 

Some things he never forgot, like the Angry Orchard boxes in the back of Jack’s truck (the same one that he still proudly called Lizzie), the way Jack’s hands looked stained with charcoal and oil paint, the way his eyes squinted when he smiled, the way it stretched crookedly across his face, the way he was so damn soft. 

It felt like cheating for a long time. It felt wrong. 

But when his stomach flipped in embarrassment for thinking back on all the things he let happen to him, he remembered it wasn’t worth feeling “wrong” over.

David had always felt like he was an advocate, he wasn’t afraid of using his voice. He wasn’t afraid of standing up against authority and calling something out when he recognized it was wrong. It didn’t make sense to him how it had been so different when he flipped the perspective on himself.

There were so many things that he let happen. His therapist said it wasn’t his fault, he had even told other survivors the same thing, but he had such a hard time believing it for himself. 

He moved back in with his parents, Les was still there, Sarah was still there. David hated to intrude on them after so long of making them a third priority, when he knew he could support himself alone, but his parents vehemently refused him going off to find his own apartment so soon.

Taking back the family name felt like putting on an old heirloom, like fitting into his great-grandfather’s yarmulke or slipping on his grandfather’s rusting watch. It also felt like a betrayal, like Brock would call him up and say, “Et tu, Brute?” He couldn’t think about it for very long. He was just glad to be a Jacobs again, to be an individual again.

He found a job in the capital of the state, a good one. He was still useful here, he even grew closer to his coworkers. He had less cases to work on, which meant he was able to give many more people his undivided attention and focus on their cases more fully.

David was taking less trips across the globe, making for a healthy balance of work and personal time. With more personal time came more time with Jack. More time in the field, the same one they went to after the stupid “divorce party,” the same one that they went to after prom. More time to look at the stars in Jack’s eyes and remind himself that it was wrong to feel that way for Jack, that Jack didn’t need all that baggage in his life.

Jack didn’t need him, David needed to remember how to function as an individual.

* * *

Davey was twenty-six, and Jack told him he had loved Davey since they were kids.

There was all that wasted potential Davey had beat himself down for. Truth be told, Davey had never stopped feeling the way he did for Jack. He just couldn’t put words to it nowadays. 

* * *

Davey was twenty-seven, and he was finally able to put words to that feeling.

* * *

Davey was twenty-eight, and he was thoroughly in love with a guy called Jack Kelly, who used to go by Cowboy and had this really wide, crooked smile that could make someone go weak at the knees, and it certainly made the little kid who wore sweater-vests blush once or twice.

* * *

Davey was twenty-nine, and he was in the field again, under the endless sky that stood as their witness, and Jack pulled out a ring from the back pocket of his paint-stained jeans, turned to Davey, and asked:

“Will you marry me?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments!
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr @thetruthabouttheboy or my main @querxes


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